


Let Jake Peralta Be Happy, Loved, and Safe

by Himrqwerty



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy sees a therapist, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned OCD, Panic Attacks, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Touch-Starved, amy just wants jake to be happy, jake has many mental health issues, mentioned night terrors, someone FINALLY mentions that the 99 should be dealing with its shit in a healthier manner, therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himrqwerty/pseuds/Himrqwerty
Summary: Amy just wants her found family to be happy and safe.Also she wants to BONE JAKE.So she has to ensure that her family (read: Jake) is mentally stable before any boning (or even kissing) can occur.¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	Let Jake Peralta Be Happy, Loved, and Safe

Jake spent the first seven years of his life being relatively coddled. His mom made his lunches and cut his sandwiches into hearts (which he only secretly loved) and gave him hugs before school, and so on. His dad played baseball with him and bought him pizza from Sal’s and sometimes clapped him on the back and smiled down at him like Jake was the best thing that ever happened to him.

But then his dad left. And his mom worked so hard and so long that she didn’t have time for lunch, let alone sandwich-hearts, and Jake never really saw her, so he didn’t get hugs or kisses on his forehead anymore. And Jake tried really hard to pretend that he didn’t miss baseball or Sal’s pizza or that amazing smile.

So after that, Jake never really got any sort of positive touch. He struggled through middle school and learned to keep his head down in high school and pretty much the only time he got touched was when someone was beating on him or when Gina brushed up against him occasionally. 

He entered the academy and met Rosa, who was pretty much anti-positive  _ anything _ , so not much changed in the way of Jake getting over any of his many mental health issues.

Not that he had mental health issues. It was only a couple panic attacks and severe touch starvation and lack of self-confidence and some buried self-hatred that stems from being convinced his dad left because he was bad and speaking of that, he had some pretty gnarly abandonment issues and was in desperate need of a steady and reliable father figure.

So no issues here. He only passed the psych test by sincerely believing that he didn’t have any problems and suppressing the shit out of all of it.

But he passes (barely. It’s the hardest part of the whole ordeal) and graduates the academy and works his way through the ranks, finally becoming a detective.

He works a couple lonely years without a solid and long-term partner until Amy Santiago is tossed at him. 

He loves it.

He loves poking fun at her binders and her rubber band balls and her tidiness. Her reactions make him laugh, even though her casual touches make him hesitate.

She smacks his shoulder when he teases her about the perfectly coordinated belt and bracelet and shirt buttons. She leans against his arm four hours into a ten-hour stakeout and doesn’t move for three hours. She hugs him when they catch the perp seven hours and fifteen minutes into a ten-hour stakeout. She loops their arms together and drags him to the nearest Chinese place when the beat cops take the perp off their hands.

It’s confusing. It leaves Jake off-balance and unable to hear for a couple moments after each touch. He leans in then leans away, unsure what he wants and why he even craves the touches.

One day, Amy slams him against some file cabinets and kisses him.

He’d be ecstatic if he wasn’t so busy flinching and cowering away from her relatively small frame.

Not that he had problems being touched firmly. It was only that he was touched when perps were hurting him and not many other times so the bad outweighed the good by a whole lot, and that he has a photographic memory so he remembers exactly what happened the last time someone slammed him against something hard and it leaves the crunch of his bones echoing through his mind.

So maybe Jake had a couple mental health issues. 

And maybe he regretted not dealing with them when Amy’s suddenly ashen face falls and she fucking vanishes from the room.

He’d be chasing after her if he wasn’t so busy sinking to the floor and falling into a panic attack so bad that when he emerges, he’s crying and has accidentally carved four half-moons into each shoulder.

There’s blood under his fingernails and in his mouth, dripping from his lip. His legs are shaking and his toes are curled so tight they cramp.

He stays there, huddled on the bottom shelf of the evidence room until he’s positive everyone has left and it’s just the night crew now. 

He crawls out from his cramped position and ignores the thunk of his head against the metal shelving.

He calls Captain Holt’s work number and lets him know that he’s going to need a couple days off. Doesn’t give a reason and says that he’ll be back before his wracked up personal time is out.

He fumbles in his pockets and drives his car out of the parking garage, leaving it in some alley that no one will look in and walks the five miles home.

He’s glad he walked —  not a sentence he ever thought he’d say —  when he has to stop to run through breathing exercises every thirty minutes. The whole walk takes around two hours, counting the breathing breaks.

He turned his phone off the instant he felt it buzz, so he doesn’t even know if the text was from Gina or Holt or...

He collapses onto his bed and falls asleep for five hours, shoes still on.

He wakes up shivering in his work clothes. He groggily sits up and throws his jacket, hoodie, and flannel on the floor. He shimmies out of his pants as he brushes his teeth and cleans the tear tracks off his face before shrugging on a worn Academy shirt and deciding that his boxers are clean enough to keep wearing. 

He spends too long leaning against his bathroom door deciding if he would be able to sleep if he got into bed for real this time when the doorbell rings.

Jake honestly has no idea what time it is and thus has no idea if this is a reasonable time for someone to be stopping by.

When he checks his oven, he finds that it’s early —  Santiago early —  but not so early that it couldn’t be a concerned Gina or drunk Rosa. He wants it to be them even though he knows it's not.

It’s not.

It’s Amy, who has obviously been through a similar routine as Jake; if she cried at all, there’s no evidence of it. Her face is as beautiful as ever, and Jake pointedly tells his brain to kindly shut the hell up immediately. 

It’s been several uncomfortable and tense moments of Amy not speaking when Jake says, “Listen, I get that we all make mistakes but I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me wallow in peace, so...” Jake goes to close the door but Amy’s unmoving body has gotten in the way.

She still says nothing. 

Jake heaves a sigh and pretends not to notice the unevenness of it, the rattling that indicates another panic attack is heading his way. “Whatever, Santiago. Do whatever the hell you want, but I’m going back to bed. And seeing as you’re in the way of my usually-locked door, if I get robbed or mugged or murdered, it’s your fault. But I’m going the fuck to bed.” The last sentence is vicious, ripping something visceral from him and letting it land on her still-unmoving perfection.

Jake snarls another violent warning towards his brain and storms towards his bedroom.

He would later suppose that the threat of him leaving is what set Santiago into movement, but for now, all he can feel is an unknown touch on his wrist and it startles him, allowing the panic attack to slither through his defenses and grip his heart and lungs. 

He thumps to the ground, hands finding the same place on his shoulders, opening the small crescent-shaped wounds and filling his nail beds with blood. 

He couldn’t tell if he was breathing too much or too little but either way, he had no control over it and he was probably going to die hearing only the roar of his body and mind shrieking and only feeling his piercing nails and a reassuring hand on his chest, nestled between his pecs.

The realization of this new feeling was enough to shock his ears into listening, into hearing Santiago coaching him through it, pressing a hand to his chest and holding one of his hands to hers. She breathes in for four, holds for two, out for six, holds for two.

It wasn’t his usual breathing exercise but it got the job done well enough.

He had a distant thought that he should tell her his usual exercise when he realized he had fallen into that one instead of Amy’s and she had adapted her strategy flawlessly. 

It made his breath hitch again, and Amy jolted forward, pressing their chests together and urging him to follow her breathing.

He drifted off on the hard floor to Amy’s calmer voice. Their chests were no longer so close, but when he woke up, he and Amy were twisted together on the hardwood flooring tighter than he’s ever been held by anyone, and he thought that maybe he could get over some of his abandonment issues.

He stays still, relishing in her quiet, warm comfort until she wakes up.

It’s awkward, to say the least. Jake is still bone-tired from the two massive panic attacks he’s had in the last twelve hours, and he likes to think he’s earned a break. Santiago has no such qualm and starts in on the hard questions right away. “Do you have PTSD from something terrible I don’t know about?” 

Jake doesn’t quite know where she got that idea from and shakes his head firmly.

“Okay.” Santiago lets out a breath, a long one. Her shoulders slump down as she relaxes. “Are you touch starved?”

Jake freezes, his wide eyes fixed on Santiago, unsure how to respond without making this whole situation worse.

“I could only think of three reasons for... the Incident yesterday, and I’m hoping it isn’t the third one, as much as I don’t want you to have PTSD or be touch starved,” she explains sheepishly. 

Jake stays frozen. 

Santiago sighs again, her shoulders drawing up the slightest amount. Her muscles tense like she’s waiting for Jake to hit her. “Did you not want me to kiss you?” She says it without any stress, and if Jake hadn’t watched her physically prepare to ask the question like she was going to war, he would think it didn’t bother her at all.

Jake still can’t move but Santiago seems willing to wait for him.

It’s a lifetime of silence before he jolts into action. He curls up into this little ball, head nestled between his knees, flat fingers wrapped around his calves and grasping his shirt in ways that are undoubtedly going to deform it.

“I can’t let you kiss me,” he whispers into his thighs.

Amy scooches a little closer. “Why not?”

“I’m... everyone I love leaves me. I’m not... I’m not good enough for you. I ruin everything.” It’s like the words are ripped from Jake’s throat, but he says them with such certainty that Amy knows he’s said them many times before, though maybe not to another person.

Amy doesn’t say anything. She reaches out ever-so-slowly and places her hand on Jake’s bicep. He flinches a little bit and is grateful when Amy allows it to be ignored. 

“We’ll work on it, okay?”

Jake makes a reluctant noise. “I see a therapist once a week,” she admits without any shame in her voice. “I have awful night terrors and my OCD spirals and spirals until I can’t even breathe if something is out of place. We all have shit, Jake.”

He mock-gasps at her saying the s-word, but Amy steadfastly ignores him. “We all have shit to work through. Especially the 99. We’re up to our ears in terrible people, Jake. We spend most of our days actively searching out the worst people in the city, and we do it on top of dealing with the rest of the crap that’s been pent up our whole lives. Remember what you told Terry? ‘It’s okay to ask for help when you’re limping.’”

Jake doesn’t respond. His eyes are rimmed with red and Amy’s starting to worry she’s exceeded his Daily Emotional Quota so much that he’s broken, but she’s built up steam and she can’t quit now. “The thing is, Jake, that I love you. I love your stupid habits and your disorganization and your unrelenting determination to stop the bad guys and I love that you just want the world to be safe, but above all, I love that you just want me to be safe. That you just want your family to be safe and feel loved.

“You’re part of my family, too. I just want you to be safe and feel loved. So please, Jake. Let me work on it with you. I desperately want to wade through your figurative shit because I want you to wade through my figurative shit and I want us to do it together.”

She’s crying and rambling and she knows it, and she goes to shut herself up, but Jake finally twitches into action again, which startles her so much that she falls silent immediately.

His hand slowly raises to cradle her cheek. She nuzzles into it a little and Jake’s thumb wipes away her tears. Then, gently, ever-so-gently, he leans in until their foreheads touch and their breath mingles and he makes her a promise.

“I promise I’ll do my best to deserve you, Amelita Mirana Edelira Santiago.”

**Author's Note:**

> What do her initials spell out?????  
> This was _almost_ an accident. I had Amelita Mirana Santiago picked out and I was like...... It's AMS! I just need an 'E'! And one of the names I was debating between was Edelira, so.... new headcanon! Jake found out Amy's full name and that's where he got "Ames" from. It's a very Jake thing, probably.


End file.
